The Light Always Finds a Way In

Some seasons break you wide open. Not in a poetic way—but in the way that leaves you breathless, asking why, questioning everything, and trying to remember how to be hopeful again. That’s the kind of season I’ve been in. And maybe you’ve been there too. This is a story about failure, grief, IVF, business dreams, and what it means to keep going when you don’t feel like you’re winning at anything. It’s also a story about light—how it eventually gets in, even when you don’t think it will.

It has been a rough first third of the year.

The kind of rough that makes you feel like you’re treading water in the middle of an ocean—no land in sight, the waves just keep coming, and you’re not sure how much longer your arms will keep moving.

In 2023 and 2024, we tried to build a family. We hoped. We tracked. We waited. We lost.

Now, we’re on an IVF journey—one filled with needles, hormone storms, protocols, calendars, and fragile hope. And it hasn’t worked… yet.

You ever have one of those weeks when a single thing cracks you open… and suddenly, all the other disappointments you’ve been carrying show up, loud and uninvited?

I’m failing to get pregnant.

I’m failing to lose the weight that’s lingered since the last loss—weight that feels like grief made visible.

I’m failing to build my business as big as I’ve dreamed.

Failure. That’s all I could see.

And sure, sometimes we catch it. We know it’s just our brain playing tricks—recycling shame, telling us stories that aren’t true.

But sometimes, we don’t catch it. We just spiral.

I was in it. One of those days. The kind that makes you question your worth, your purpose, your why. That drags your confidence down into the mud and whispers, “What’s the point if everything I touch ends up broken?”

It felt dark. Thick. Lonely. Like the world forgot to leave a light on for me.

So I did what I know to do. I meditated. I journaled. I walked. I read. I cried. I yelled. I screamed into pillows. I tried to move the pain out of my body.

And still… it didn’t lift.

This is important. Because sometimes, we do all the “right” things—and the fog doesn’t clear. And we have to just sit in it. Let it be. And try again tomorrow.

So, at the end of the day, I went to bed.

And I woke up tired. Not just from the workout I pushed through—but from the emotional labor of simply being with myself.

But I got up. As we do.

I went for my walk.

And somewhere in the rhythm of my feet and the chill in the air… the light got in. Just a sliver. But enough to make space.

And then, out of nowhere, my brain offered something strange:

“Well… if I’m here to fail. If failure is my purpose, for whatever reason—whether it’s teaching me, growing me, or maybe even helping someone else… if I’m here to fail… then I’m going to be the best damn fail-er there ever was.”

Not because I’m giving up.

But because I’m still here.

Still trying. Still rising. Still daring to hope, even when it’s hard.

Maybe it’s not about avoiding failure.

Maybe it’s about being willing to feel it—and keep going anyway.

Maybe it’s not failure at all. Maybe it’s becoming.

So if that’s you right now—if it feels dark and the light hasn’t shown up yet—please know this:

It will.

Maybe not all at once.

But a sliver at a time.

Let that be enough for today.